“Of me?”
“I don’t know you.”
“That was not my question.”
I looked at the space above his shoulder.
“Yes.”
He was silent through several measures.
“I won’t hurt you.”
The words were simple.
I wanted to believe them because they were spoken without performance.
Instead, I asked, “Do men like you understand how little that promise means?”
“What kind of men are men like me?”
“Men whose names make rooms quiet.”
He looked past me toward the guests.
“Rooms become quiet for many reasons.”
“Fear is usually one of them.”
“Yes.”
He did not deny it.
The honesty left me without the argument I had prepared.
When the music ended, he released me immediately.
My father intercepted us near the terrace.
“May I speak with my daughter?”
Niko looked at me, not at Arthur.
I nodded.
He stepped away.
My father led me into a small room off the ballroom. Shelves of leather-bound books covered the walls. The noise of the reception became distant behind the closed door.
